Ties That Bind
by SignsofSam
Summary: Dean doesn’t belong in Sam’s world, not with his new family, and not with his new life. But when he tries to distance himself from his little brother, Dean finds that you can’t just leave your family behind. UPDATED 12/15.
1. Chapter One: Help

**Summary:** Dean doesn't belong in Sam's world, not with his new family, and not with his new life. But when he tries to distance himself from his little brother, Dean finds that you can't just leave your family behind.

**Disclaimer:** I am a poor starving college student. I do not own Supernatural (damn you Kripke!) or anything related to it except my own, poor pitiful little plotline. Please don't sue. _Comprende?_

**Rating:** T for some colorful language

**Author's Note:** Yay, it's me, and I'm back earlier than I planned. This is something different for me, a definite AU with a sprinkling of monsters in the background, and I'm eager to see what you guys think about it. Also, I just made myself a Livejournal (you would think I have one of those, but I don't...well, I didn't, not until now...). Feel free to add me. I'm goign tot be uploading all these lovely stories to it, plus some other ones doesn't have. Anyway, please, honest feedback, and everybody have a great day. I don't know when a new chapter will be out, but I'll try to have it out in a week or two. I'm currently writing for NaNoWriMo, so other things (besides school) are going to be put on the backburner for awhile. I will be writing for this story though (I promise); I just will be slow in updating.

Happy Reading, and please review!

**Chapter One: Help**

Grace Moreland bit her bottom lip as she parked her black BMW between an old Ford pick-up and a beat-up off-color car that had seen better days. The neon sign above the bar was blinking, in need of repair, but she didn't want to concentrate on that. She was here on a mission, and she was bound and determined to see it through.

She gave a wide berth to the two men at the door, but there was no way she could do anything about the crowd that was in the bar. She kept as far from the patrorns as possible, making her way towards the bar, the piece of paper with the directions scrawled on it clutched in her hands. She stopped in front of the bar tender, let out a breath before she got his attention. "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice hard and uncaring. He was there to work.

"I need to find Dean Winchester?"

The older man's eyebrow rose. "The kid? What do you need him for?"

"I just need to see him."

"Look lady, the kid's had some issues and problems and he doesn't need you…"

"Huh?" she whispered, thinking over what this…oh. _Oh._ "Oh, no, not like that. I'm his brother's mom."

"You're the bitch that took his kid brother away?" the man asked, voice getting gruffer, and Grace began to wonder if this was a bad idea. "What do you want?"

"I need to see Dean."

"He doesn't want to talk to you."

"I don't care. I need to talk to him."

"Lady-"

The door behind the bar opened, and a young man walked through, carrying a box of beer, a white rag hap-hazardly over his left shoulder. He was dressed in a faded green plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to mid-arm, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a dirty white shirt, and fading dark jeans. "Hey, Bobby, I've got that extra case of-" he stopped talking when he saw Grace.

She gasped when she saw him. One eye was swollen, a cut above his left eye, closed with a few stitches. He had another laceration on his cheek, closed once again with stitches. His lip was cut, and there were bruises going down his neck. His knuckles were swollen and cut, and his ring finger on his right hand was splinted and taped to his pinky.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice laced with hate and disdain.

"Can we talk?" Grace asked hopefully, the small smile she offered falling when he continued moving behind the bar.

"Kinda busy now," he answered. "I have nothing to say to you."

"He expects your call on his birthday; it's the one thing he looks forward to. You didn't call."

"As you always like to tell me, he's your son now, your family," Dean snapped back, setting the beers in their proper place, wiping off the counter. "You wanted me out of his life; now you got it."

"I wanted you out of his life when he was eight, and it wouldn't hurt him as much. He's not eight anymore, and you didn't leave, and though I might not like it, that boy loves you with all his heart. You didn't call, and he's taking it out on me and his father and-"

"I hate to tell you this, _Lady_, you're not his mother. She died in a fire. And your husband? He's definitely not his dad. His dad is rotting away in some prison for something he didn't do," Dean interrupted, glaring at some drunk woman who came up to the bar and slammed her mug down, demanding whatever was in the tap. He got the beer, returning it to the woman before coming to stand in front of Grace. "I have to work. Can you leave me alone?"

"Can I talk to you when you're off? Grab coffee or some-"

"I have to go to school tomorrow, then work; I don't have time to talk to you. Just tell Sam to forget about me, because…it's best. I'm not anyone you want in his life, so maybe it's best to sever all ties. I don't want to see him, and I don't want to see you." With that, Dean walked back through the door, disappearing from Grace's sight as disappointment and guilt wrecked her body.

--------------

Sam snapped at his mother, a new morning routine, as he slammed into his seat, glaring viciously at her, the same glare Dean had giving her the night before, and she wondered ruefully when her boy had taken lesson from his older brother about how to perfect that glare. Gone was her Sammy, her happy, wonderful child that loved school and his friends and his family, and in his place was this sullen, moody _brat_ that she didn't like one bit.

She wondered sometimes if it would have been easier if she and her husband had taken Dean, too. At the time, he seemed to…dirty. He had a fowl mouth, an unhealthy pension for disrespect, and he had blatantly told the two that if they thought they were anything special than they could just take that specialness and shove it up their asses.

Needless to say, Dean went back to the social worker the next day while Sam stayed with Grace and her husband. Grace was attached to the little boy with soulful brown eyes, and her heart broke a little bit when those eyes welled with tears as he realized that his new Mommy was the reason his brother was gone.

Over the years, Dean was the pest that wouldn't go away. He called once a month, religiously, and never forgot Sam's birthday, always managing to sneak a badly-wrapped present to the Moreland's front steps, and it always became Sam's favorite gift, no matter if it was a Slim Jim or a car magazine-no one else's gifts could even come close.

She had gotten used to that. Dean kept his phone calls curt, and was always courteous to her when she answered the phone.

And then the most important milestone in Sam's life thus far-his sixteenth birthday-came around, and he waited eagerly for his phone call.

It never came.

And now here they were, a week later, with Sam still in his funk, his real father not speaking to him, and, apparently, his brother washing his hands of the teen.

"Morning, Sam," she said carefully.

He didn't answer, and she took a moment to watch him as he moved about the kitchen, grabbing a bowl for cereal. He had recently undergone _another_ growth spurt, stretching out to six-four, and his hair was a dark brown, much like her own, though his was stick straight and a little to long for Grace's liking. From what Grace knew of John and Mary Winchester, Sam got most things from his father.

"Morning, sport," Craig Moreland said to his son as he came down the stairs, kissing his wife's forehead.

"Whatever," Sam bit out, slamming his bowl down. "Gotta go."

"But you didn't eat-" Grace began, stopping when Sam swung his bag in front of her face in haste to get out. "Bye! Have a good day!" she called to the closed door before she sighed, looking at her husband. "What are we gonna do with him?"

-------------

Dean drifted through school, barely recognizing the teachers when they asked him questions, ignoring his "friends" completely, focusing on the pain in his body and the conversation he had had the night before.

The fight had been planned, but Dean hadn't anticipated the six foot five, three hundred fifty pound man they pitted him against. He had been winning, winning, winning, and finally the bosses wised up and decided to give him a challenge. Sure, the man was a challenge, and sure, he had hurt Dean, but, once again, Dean had come out on top.

Like there was any other option.

He had a hunt planned for the weekend, near Phoenix, but if he kept dragging through the week as he did today, he wouldn't be able to go, mostly because he wouldn't be caught up enough in school to waste the weekend. He refused to quit school-it was one of the things that he remembered promising the only foster mother who gave a damn about him-he'd see this school thing through to his degree.

Even if it was community college instead of the Big Leagues.

He headed towards his car, the Impala Bobby had kept with him until he could give it to Dean, and tossed his bag in the passenger seat before noticing the gold hair of Grace Moreland in the sun. She was sitting on a bench outside of the main entrance, half-occupied with a book. When she saw him, she tensed, but then grabbed her purse and walked to him, determined.

"I thought I was done with you," he said, closing the door, glancing around.

"I want my son back. You aren't gonna be done with me until he's back, because you're the only one who can fix him," Grace replied. "Do you want money? I'll pay you-"

"I don't want anything. I want you to leave me alone. I don't want to see your son, and I'm sorry if that upsets you, but I can't. I have my own life, I've got school, and work, and no time for a child with an attitude."

"He's your brother."

"You seem to be forgetting that you didn't want that. You seem to be forgetting the fact that you sent me back and kept him. You seem to be forgetting that you had your husband make sure I knew that despite Sammy's invite to Christmas, I was scum and wasn't welcome. So guess what? I'm not going to help, because he's not my brother anymore. He's your son."

"What's gotten into you? Sam's brother isn't a cold, hard bastard," Grace whispered, a tear trailing down her cheek. "Sam's brother isn't getting in fights and not calling his brother-on his sixteenth birthday, no less. Sam's brother-"

"Doesn't exist in your world," Dean snapped, opening the driver's side door.

"He's your brother," she said, a last-ditch attempt, and she knew it worked when Dean sighed. "I'm asking for five minutes of your time."

"He's just cranky because I didn't call. I call tonight. But this is it, okay? I can't be half in, half out anymore, I won't be."

"Just make him smile, Dean, that's all I'm asking for."

"Okay, okay. I'll call tonight."

"Thank you. Thank you so very much."

Dean nodded, closing the door, and Grace smiled, watching as he drove off.

Finally, everything would be back to normal.

-------------

"I've got a job that will pay big."

Dean rolled his eyes, tossing his book bag in a locker in the employee room of the bar. "You're last job ended with me in the hospital, Eric."

"This one has a five thousand dollar payout," Eric stated, rolling around a coin on his palm. "And that's just for getting into the final fight."

"And I bet it's bare knuckles, too.," Dean replied. "In some dinky little bar in some out of the way place? I'm not dumb, Eric, despite what you think. Five thou won't even cover the basic to get care after one of those type of fights."

"C'mon, Dean, when'd you lose your balls?" Eric taunted, raising an eyebrow at the twenty-year-old. He knew the immature kid would jump on that jeer.

"When?"

"Tonight, well tomorrow, at three, at the Cave."

"I'll be there."

"Good man, Dean, good man." WIth that, Eric took his leave, and Dean shoved his hand inot his book bag, grabbing his apron. He would regret this decision, and he knew it, but he couldn't back down. It wasn't how he grew up, and it wasn't in his nature.

"Hey, Bobby, can I leave twenty minutes early today?"

"What were you talking about with Eric? Better not be another fight, Dean. One of these days-" Dean tried to ignore the tone of the old man's voice, but he couldn't. Bobby was like Pastor Jim and Caleb, a stand-in father trying to make him into something his father would be proud of. "Dean, are you listening?"

"I need to leave twenty minutes early," Dean answered instead.

"Fine!" Bobby yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration. "You want to be an idiot, go right ahead! But I'm not going to help you when things fall on you! When you get hurt-not this time. I told you the last time you make an idiot mistake like this-I ain't pickin' up the pieces!"

"I don't need you to! I'm going to be fine!" Dean snapped, glaring at the guy. It was hard, not having his father around him, with all these other guys trying to take his place. It was hard not letting go, not letting someone just sneak up and replace John, but he couldn't, mostly because he owed his father that much. After all, it was John Winchester who save Sam and Dean from the fire when Dean was four. It was John Winchester who had saved them from an evil spirit Dean had allowed into the hotel room when he was seven. It was John Winchester who sacrificed his freedom so that his boys could get some help at a hospital, and it was John Winchester who finally severed all ties witht eh boys by telling them both to never contact him when Dean was thirteen, in his third foster home. Because of John Winchester, Dean had found Ms. Edna White, who had shown him love and the childhood he missed out on.

Edna had died when Dean was fifteen, and he found himself out on the streets with no where to go and no one to turn to. He grew up quickly on the streets, learned that his father's training was what gave him an edge over the other homeless teenagers trying to keep away from the pimps and the prostitutes and the gang bangers, and he learned to fight for his survival.

But then Bobby had found him, a dark lonely night in November, when the temperature was below freezing and he hadn't found an opening in a shelter and therefore decided to stick it out on a park bench. Bobby, who had been looking for him since his father had been arrested when Dean was twelve. Bobby, who taught Dean how to drive and got him back to school and put him back together.

He should give more consideration to Bobby's opinion.

He scrubbed a table too hard, staring at the battered wood of the bar. He heard Bobby slam the back door, wondered if he was leaving Dean to fend for himself for the night, but then the door slammed again, and he smiled, knowing he'd apologize once Bobby came back into the room.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing that, even across the room, Bobby could hear him.

"I know, kid," Bobby answered, just as soft, and Dean could hear the disappointment despite the acceptance of the apology. "I can't stop you from doing this, Dean, but it is dangerous, this game you're playing, and you're gonna get hurt. I don't want you to get hurt. I promised your father I wouldn't let you get hurt."

"I get hurt every single time I go on a hunt," Dean answered easily. "This will be the last one. With this payout, I can pay off the rest of school, restock for Phoenix next week-"

"Whatever, kid. It's your life, and I'm not going to tell you how to run it. Just please be careful, whatever you do. I don't want anything bad to happen."

Dean nodded, scrubbing at the same table he'd been standing at since their argument started. "I need to call Sam, okay? I told his mom I'd call him."

Bobby raised an eyebrow so far it nearly got lost in his trucker hat. "I thought you were through with that?"

"He's my brother, Booby."

"His father threatened to call the cops on you."

"I have a feeling his foster mom didn't know, and I'm not too keen on telling her, but I will if I have to. They're having problems with him, and even though I might not like them, Sam needs a family, even if it doesn't include me." Dean's voice was soft, and Bobby wished he could make it better. He wanted to see Dean happy, but he knew that his boy was far, far from that.

"Go on, kiddo; you can use the back room," Bobby said, and Dean grinned, grabbing the phone as he headed towards the back.

The number he dialed was familiar, even after the couple of weeks not dialing it, and he sat on the couch as it rang. "Hello?" a muffled voice came out, and Dean's breath nearly caught; it was his brother, the boy he had taken care of for eight years of his life, the kid he would die for.

"Hey, Sam," he whispered.

"Dean?" The voice was hopeful, almost like when Sam was six and sick and he had begged for medicine that Dean had promised him he'd get.

"Yeah, kid, it's me."

"You called."

"I always do."

"You didn't on my birthday. I waited and waited and dyou didn't call and-"

"Sam, I can't call anymore, okay? It's for the best."

"_What_?!"

"I…I can't call anymore, Sam. You've got your life and I need to get my own instead of mooching on yours'…"

"No, Dean. You promised-you promised you wouldn't leave me here. You promised-"

"You've got a family that loves you, kiddo; you don't need me anymore."

Those words were the hardest. _You don't need me anymore_. It made Dean's heart ache and made his eyes tear up, but they didn't fall. No way would Dean Winchester let _tears_ fall. "Yes I do." Sam was insistent, but Dean had steeled his heart to his brother, and nothing would change his mind.

"No, you don't. After I hang up today, I'm not going to call again. You need to back off your parents…you're lucky you have them and if you don't stop, you are going to lose them and that's not something you want. So straighten up, fast, okay?"

"Dean, no. C'mon…you're my brother…"

"Bud, I will always be your brother. If you really need me, you know I will be there. But me being around you-it's not safe. Not for you."

"Who said that?" Sam's voice was sharp, and Dean would be damned if the kid wasn't sharp. "Which one of them?"

"No one but me said it, Sammy. I do things that I don't…don't ever want you involved with, you got me? It's…it's dangerous and I don't want you to know the things I do."

"Dean? Is everything okay?"

"It's fine Sam. And happy birthday, kid. I know you weren't real happy with me missing the big event and all, and I'm sorry-"

"It's okay. You called-that's all that matters."

"But I'm not calling again, Sam. I need you to understand that, okay? I'll always be here, and be near, but I can't be involved?"

He could hear the soft gasp, a chocked sobbed. "Okay…okay. If that's how you want it, Dean. But, you know, the thing with you always being here? The same applies to you."

Dean laughed. "Sure, Sam. Bye."

"Bye, Dean."

And then there was a dial tone, and that was the end of it. Of their whole lives together. A dial tone after a five minute conversation.

The End.

--------------

Sam was asleep when his cell phone buzzed near his head. It took him a few minutes to fully wake up, enough anyway to rummage around on his nightstand, hand gripping the phone even as it vibrated again. "Hello?" he grumbled as he flipped the phone open. "This better be a good reason-"

"Sam?"

The voice was weak, but he recognized it instantly, and felt his body wake up. "Dean? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I need your help, Sam. I need you."


	2. Chapter Two: Family Needs

**Summary:** Dean doesn't belong in Sam's world, not with his new family, and not with his new life. But when he tries to distance himself from his little brother, Dean finds that you can't just leave your family behind.

**Disclaimer:** I am a poor starving college student. I do not own Supernatural (damn you Kripke!) or anything related to it except my own, poor pitiful little plotline. Please don't sue. _Comprende?_

**Rating:** T for some colorful language

**Author's Note:** I know, it's taken me more than a month to get this out, but November and December are final times for college students, so I had to concentrate on those. Plus, I was doing Nanowrimo, so most of my November was spent pouring my heart and soul into that. I will be finishing this (hopefully) over Winter Break, and so I present to you the second chapter!

**Chapter Two: Family Needs**

Dean bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain as a hot poker pressed against his chest, sending pain through his body, smoke smoldering in the air. "You…you son-of-of-a-a-bitch," he got out, a single tear streaking down his face. "I'm…I'm gonna kill…kill you."

"I bet," Eric answered, demon eyes flashing black. "You know, you're a dumb idiot. It was so easy to lure you here, what with your ego and all." The poker pressed against his chest again, but Dean was prepared for it, and he only winced, though he could smell burning skin and muscle.

He wondered how much longer the demon would keep up this particular form of torture before moving on to one more lethal.

He shifted, feeling the chains binding his hands clink in protest. He was in the dank basement of the Cave, chained to a brick wall. He watched the demon stand, heard bones cracking as it moved back to the oven, setting the iron in the heated coals. He wondered if Eric was still in there, or long gone. He hoped it was the latter.

The phone call to Sam had been desperate, and he wasn't really sure if he got through the message that he wanted to, that Sam needed to call Bobby. He needed Bobby soon, or the little sliver of hope he had of getting out of the basement alive would be crushed.

He watched the demon carefully, sure to not make any noise to cause unwanted attention. If he had to rely on himself to get out of this mess, he had to be stealth, and he had to be sly, and he sure as hell couldn't let the demon know what was happening because some stupid chain _clinked_ or something.

The demon turned back to him, offering him a cruel smile. "You know, I didn't think I'd enjoy this nearly as much as I am. Torturing a petty hunter, especially someone like you? that's low level stuff-a fledgling demon. But this is turning out better than I expected." He shoved the poker against Dean's stomach, and the twenty-year-old cringed, feeling it sizzle and crack against him. "What, no words of bravery? No signs of courage? What a pathetic boy you are. I wonder what your father would say."

Dean's face hardened at the mention of his dad, and he felt his hands fist together, felt his nails biting into his palms. The demon pulled the poker off his chest, patting the boy's face. "Don't worry, son. Soon I'll be done with you. Soon you can die."

"You think it'll be that easy? That you can just kill me and that will be it? You are an _idiot _if you think that's what's gonna happen. Someone's gonna kill you, and I'll just be watching, laughing, while you die," Dean spat out, closing his eyes just before the fist slammed into his cheek, sending the other side into the brick wall, scraping the skin. "Oh, did the little, pathetic boy ruffle your feathers?"

The demon pulled his head up, tightening a grip in his hair, and Dean felt red-hot pain surge through his body as the poker smacked against his neck, at the juncture of it and his collarbone, a sensitive, thin part of skin that had the pain slam into his muscles as the poker melted skin on top of them.

Another tear fell, and the demon smiled, pushing Dean away, touching the tear. "So weak, you humans are. You know, my meat-suit's still alive. He's in here, rattling around, begging for me to stop, that you're just a kid. They don't know who you are, do they, Dean?"

"So now the pathetic boy is known? God, you are just full of contradictions, aren't ya?"

It was getting harder to talk as his brain focused on things like _pain, white hot pain that wouldn't stop coming_, but he did. He singled out the words, was deliberate about them, said them with force and confidence, despite his pain. He'd never let that demonic SOB see him without his game face firmly affixed and waiting to take a battering.

"You _are_ a pathetic boy. You just happen to be the son of John Winchester, and that's the only reason we got _me_ here to worry about you. Because even though you aren't anything, he is everything, and something more. Just remember that, little boy, when I kill you."

He heard the pump of a shot gun and watched Eric's body arch as salt blasted through it. He glanced behind the man, rolling his eyes at Bobby. "Took you long enough, old man!" he called, seeing Bobby momentarily look at him before beginning the exorcism.

Dean could literally feel the ground shake as the demon left Eric's body, and it crumpled in front of him. He toed it, testing for signs of life, but the body just moved iwht his foot.

"He's dead," he murmured to Bobby as the old man kneeled to find the pulse. He gave a curt nod to Dean before moving to him. "Hey."

"You're lucky you're not, young man," Bobby snapped, looking at the chains. "What in the hell were you thinking? I got your kid brother in my bar, waiting for you with his _mother_."

"Sorry, Bobby. Didn't remember…di'n't 'member the….the number…for you." Whatever strength he had stored was quickly being sapped from his body, and Bobby caught him as his arms fell and he pitched forward.

"Easy, son, easy. I got you, just relax." Bobby's hand passed over a scorch mark, and Dean grimaced. "What happened, son?"

"Burns. Bobby-" His vision twisted, and suddenly he couldn't say anything, instead concentrating on the blackness that overtook him.

--------------

"Mom, what if something's _really _wrong?" Sam asked his mother impatiently, looking around the empty bar nervously. "I mean, what if it's bad?"

"Mr. Singer looked like he had it covered, Sam. I'm sure Dean was just sick or something-he'll be fine." Grace looked with disdain over the grimy tables, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you sure we can't go back home?"

Sam gave her a look, instantly vetoing that idea, and Grace sighed, sitting in a chair. "Can I ask you a question, son?"

He looked up, startled, but nodded. "Why do you care about him so much? He tried to abandon you, tried to distance himself from you. And you have…you have everything with me and your father-"

"But he's not my father, Mom. I can call you Mom because I never really knew mine, but Dad-I have a father. He might not be the greatest, but he's mine and I just have to accept that for myself. And Dean will always be my brother. Always. I don't care if he tries to leave me…he's my brother. The sooner you understand that, the sooner you accept that, the better for me," Sam whispered. "Why can't he be a part of my family too?"

She nodded, coming over to wrap him in a hug. "I love you, you know? I love you with all my heart."

"I love you too, Mom."

The door slammed open, and a gruff "Sam!" was barked out. The sixteen-year-old hurried out, and Grace heard him gasp. "Just get him inside," Bobby ordered and Grace raced to the door. "Clear off the bar!"

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, and Bobby grunted as they moved past her, carrying a prone body between them.

"Clear off the damn bar, lady!" He snapped, glaring at her.

"Mom, just do it!" Sam said, and she nodded, running past them, hurriedly pulling off lone beer bottles, the rags, watching Bobby haul unconscious Dean onto the bar. "Where's your first aid kit, Bobby?"

"In the back room, in the cabinet underneath the sink," Bobby said, glancing at Grace. "Can you get some clean rags? There should be some unopened ones in my office." Grace hurried off, and Bobby looked down at his….Dean was the closest thing to a son Bobby had. "You will not die on me, young man, you got it? If you do, I'm gonna bring you back and kill you myself."

"Here!" Sam said, scrambling for Bobby. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I'm going to try," Bobby answered. "Help me get his jacket off please." Gently, they pulled the jacket from Dean's body, both grimacing when they felt pull from the jacket and saw Dean's body jerk. "It's okay, Dean, it's okay," Bobby soothed, handing the worn leather to Sam. "Keep it safe; he loves this jacket."

Grace returned with the rags, and slowly, Bobby worked the boy's plaid shirt off, wincing when he saw the scorch marks. "Oh my God. What happened?"

Bobby scowled at her and she shrank back, trying to disappear into the woodwork. "He fights sometimes, for money. I tell him no, and he goes anyway. This one was…the man tortured him in some grungy basement, burnt him with a poker. If he had a family, this wouldn't be happening." It was an accusing tone, but he was gentle about it; no use in scaring the woman off. "I need your help." She quickly put on some gloves, holding up the worn plaid shirt as Bobby worked to remove it from flesh.

"Shouldn't we take him to a hospital?"

"No." Bobby's answer was full of finality, so she didn't argue. "It looks like his ribs might be broken."

"What do we do?"

"Hold him down-I need to check them, and he's not going to like it. Get Sam to help you." The teenager had retreated to a table, but game over eagerly when he heard his name. He rested his weight on his brother's shoulders, felt his mother beside him, keeping Dean's head down, counting to five before giving Bobby a nod, watching the man begin the press and scour the ribs.

Dean's eyes slammed open and he tried to sit up, panicking when he couldn't. "Calm down, Dean," his brother said, and Dean's eyes met his. "You're fine, brother. Calm down. I'm here, okay? Just you and me."

The tense muscles in Dean's neck relaxed, and he laid his head back down, gulping. "It…it hurts."

"Bobby says you might have broken some ribs. He's checking."

"God. Eric was a…a…." He stopped talking when he saw Grace staring back at him. "Sam…"

"I know, brother."

"You can let go of him now," Bobby said, and Sam slowly loosened his grip, catching his brother's hand so they would have some contact. He winced at the ugly, blistering dark red mark along the length of his forearm, but he quickly schooled his face; no use in getting Dean upset. "I need the burn cream from the bag." Sam could see his mom search through the bag until she found it, handing it back to Bobby silently. "Dean, this is going to hurt, bud. I need you to stay still."

"Yeah, Bobby." The answer was quiet, and Bobby glanced down to make sure his ward wasn't about to pass out again. "I'm fine, I promise. I'll be here."

"Just making sure."

It took him several hours to clean out the burns, bandage several cuts and gashes on Dean's back from the cement wall, the red, swollen mess on his wrists, to make sure there was no further damage, and Dean stared up at the ceiling the whole time. Grace was impressed; he had let out a soft whimper or groan when Bobby hit a particularly bad burn, but his brave face was admirable.

Over the past couple of days, and more so over the past couple of hours, she had begun to realize why people were attracted to Dean Winchester, and why they wanted to be near him.

"Sam, Dean's got a clean shirt in his room. Will you grab it?"

The teen nodded, leaving his brother alone with Grace and Bobby. "I hope you don't mind a roommate today, boy; you need someone to watch you for awhile."

"Bobby…" he rasped out, but the old man shook his head.

"I don't think so. Do you see yourself? You've got second degree burns all over you, a couple of broken ribs, cuts and bruises and-you aren't in any shape to be by yourself," Bobby answered, his voice final. "And I don't care what else you have to say."

Dean sighed in defeat, letting the old man help him up as Sam returned with another one of his worn flannel shirts. "He can stay with us."

Grace wasn't sure where that voice-or that sentiment-came from. It was her voice, of course, she knew that, but she had thought she was going to be silent during this part. It wasn't her place to stand up for him…but how could she not? He was Sam's brother, for God sakes, and he seemed so innocent, so troubled to be so innocent, and that was what she wanted to help out. She wanted him to see that even though their past had been marred, it wouldn't continue to be.

"I don't think so, lady," Dean said quickly, almost hatefully, and Dean felt a twinge of guilt as she blushed bright red. "While you might more…apt to let me stay, your husband hates me, and that's not going to change anytime too soon."

"He does not hate you-" Grace tried to argue, and Dean scoffed.

"You want to know why I didn't call Sam on his birthday? It's not because I want him out of my life-I could never want that-but your husband called me that day and told me that if I kept calling, he was going to get me arrested. I've worked my ass off to get where I am-" he paused, looking at him brother. "And I'm sorry, Sam, but I can't give that up, not even for you."

"My husband said that? That he would call the cops?"

"He said he had friends."

Grace let out a breath, wishing, praying what Dean had said wasn't true, but she knew that it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. To Craig, Dean was always an obstacle when it came to Sam; he saw Dean as the reason Sam wasn't close to him, too enamored with his own father, and that could only come courtesy of Dean Winchester.

Dean had bowed his head, and Grace put her fingers under his chin, raising it so she could look in his eyes. "I don't know what my husband told you, but he was wrong. You are welcome in my home. I know it hasn't been easy with us-but this-tonight and these past couple of days-you deserve more than being an outsider. So, you can come, get better, and maybe we can work this out."

"Yeah?" He was almost smiling, despite his cut lip.

"Yeah."

------------

"What is he doing here?" Craig Moreland was practically yelling, and Dean could feel Sam buzzing with tension as they sat in the guest room, Dean because it was now his residence, Sam because Grace had told him to stay when Craig had come home and had seen their new guest and immediately, the vein in his forehead began popping out.

"He's hurt, Craig! He called Sam, and he's hurt!"

"I don't care. That boy-we agreed! He had to go!" His voice was harsh, and even Dean tensed. He hated hearing people yell, and Grace had been….had been kind to him over the past few days. And Craig-he had a burning, seeping hate for Craig.

"I won't let him go! Can't you see Sam? Our son loves him! That's his brother, Craig, his brother. He's the one that could keep Sam from us forever, and I don't want that. He's a good kid, he's grown up to be a good man, and Sam could learn from him!"

"He has to go, Grace. I will not have that…that has been here!"

Dean cringed, but he felt Sam's warm hand on his shoulder, and he stopped, looking at his brother. "Can you help me up?"

"No, Dean. Mom said to stay put. We're gonna stay put. Mom will take care of it."

"She's not your real mom."

"But she is, Dean. I didn't know Mary Winchester; you did. The only memories I have are from you. Grace has been everything a mother should be to me, and I would sacrifice my life for her. So she is my real mom, Dean. I hope you can understand that."

Dean was silent a moment, staring at his brother, wondering how-but he nodded. "Okay. I don't get it, Sam, I don't…but okay. I can understand. You are still my brother, though. No matter what."

"No matter what," Sam agreed, wincing when something smashed into the outside wall. He scurried off the bed, and Dean let out a breath, looking at the door. With undying determination, he pushed himself off the bed, shaking his head at Sam as he stepped towards him.

"Stay here," he ordered.

"Dean-"

"No, Sam, I'm not asking. Stay here."

"Okay, okay. Just be careful." One nod, and he was limping towards the door, his arm resting around his ribs. He opened the door, turning to face Sam again.

"You hear anything bad-anything, Sam-call Bobby. Tell him to get over here." One final nod, and he closed the door.

Craig and Grace were in the kitchen, and Craig looked crazed, glaring at his wife, who was at the cabinets, hands on a plate. "You're gonna regret that. Get that boy out of _my_ house, you bitch, and then we'll talk about this," he threatened, stalking towards Grace, who looked genuinely frightened. "I will teach you-"

"Hey!" Dean snapped, stepping forward, very carefully. "Try it. I dare you."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Craig laughed, momentarily forgetting his wife to stalk towards Dean. "Hit me? I could knock you on your ass."

"You could try," Dean teased, sending Grace a quick look before focusing back on Craig. "And then you'd realize very quickly that you would lose."

"Is that so, little boy?"

Dean flinched at the words, but stayed focused.

Focus was his only thought for now.

"Come on and try." He knew he wasn't at one hundred percent, but surely he was stronger than this one regular man.

The first punch told him that he wasn't dealing with a regular man. He felt his teeth cut the inside of his cheek, but he shook it off, taking a running tackle and knocking the man into the counter. He had to be tactical about this-he wasn't up to par, so he had to back the…whatever Craig was…into a corner to win. A punch, a kick, another tackle…and then Craig started to fight back.

Dean felt his jaw snap as Craig's fist smashed into it, and his back slammed into a wall. He looked around, grabbing one of Grace's abandoned plates, hitting Craig in the face.

Black eyes clouded into blue ones, and Dean gasped.

Demon.

His resilience surfaced then, and he groaned as he smashed into Craig again. "I won't let you jurt my brother, you son of a bitch."

"You wanna bet, boy? I've been here for years; I will lead Sam, groom Sam, he will be-"

"Get out of the body, demon. Get out of his body!"

Grace gasped, and both of them turned. She screamed as she saw her husband's eyes, and took a step back.

"Go to Sam!" Dean yelled, and she nodded, backing towards the door. Craig scrambled for her, but Dean jerked him back, slamming him into the frig, feeling things inside the frig rock. He needed salt. He twisted from the demon, slamming open cabinets, letting out a gleeful shout when he found it. He picked at the tab until it opened, thrusting it at the demon, watching him-it-scream. He jumped past the demon, heading towards the door. "Sam! Open the door!"

His brother complied, and he rushed in, slamming it shut, pouring the salt at the bottom. "Go put this on the window."

Grace was watching him, and he nodded towards her. "You want to know what-"

"Yes, I want to know what in the hell is going on."

"He's a demon."

"_What_?"

"Your husband is a demon. They possess people, they walk among us-and my dad-Sam's dad-he kills them. I kill them. I kill a lot of bad things."

"You can't kill my husband."

"You processed that a lot…a lot faster than I thought you would," Dean said, gasping for breath. "I hope he's not dead, but your husband-he could be. You don't know how that demon's been using him as a meat suit."

"Dean-"

"I can try to exorcise him, but I need Bobby here-he does it best. He-"

He jumped when someone touched his shoulder, looking up, into Grace's eyes. "But we only have you. I trust you."

He nodded to her, offering her a small smile. "Sam, call Bobby. I need to talk to him."


End file.
